


What Does Bass Guitar Sound Like On the Moon?

by Vesperbat



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesperbat/pseuds/Vesperbat
Summary: Kyo attends one of Iori's shows, curious about his band... and about Iori himself. How can he know so little about someone he's known for so long? Kyo follows Iori into the night, and although Iori is confused by the lack of a fight, he doesn't seem to mind.





	What Does Bass Guitar Sound Like On the Moon?

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly game-based, at least some time after Ash Saga, but with some inspiration from KoF: Kyo (like Iori's terrible apartment... the only Iori apartment canon in my heart).

"Yagami!"

Iori craned his neck and peered over the heads of shifting clubgoers. "Kyo!"

His band members looked too, but he deserted them immediately, shouldering his way through the crowd. Some kid from the audience tried to ask him a question, but Iori didn’t even look down. He only stopped when he and Kyo were face to face. Patrons were on the move now that the show was over, closing them in as they passed.  
  
Kyo grinned. "Not bad, Yagami. I guess there's something even you can do." He’d been meaning to come here for a while now. It had been so long since he heard Iori play, and he’d never heard the rest of his band. You couldn’t deny Iori’s skill, but it was always hard to imagine him functioning in a group.  
  
"Cut the chat.” Iori’s fingers twitched at his side, preparing to ignite.  
  
With a pained expression, Kyo covered Iori's hand with his own. "You can't do that _here_. Anyway, chatting is all I came for. I'm not about to start a bar fight."  
  
"Then we'll take it outside-"  
  
"Hey!" Iori's bandmates crushed in behind him, led by the thin, bottle-blond drummer. His height and his air of glamour reminded Kyo of Benimaru, though Benimaru would sooner die than let his roots show. The guitarist was on the short side, mousier than expected. Neither seemed like Iori’s style, though Kyo wasn’t really sure what that would entail. Those twisted Hakkeshu women..? He suppressed a shudder, glad they were nowhere to be seen.

It was just the three of them on stage tonight, plus a keyboardist, but he made a beeline for the bar counter as soon as their set ended. They didn’t have a dedicated singer, but the guitarist occasionally took up vocals. Privately, Kyo was a little disappointed. He wondered what Iori sounded like when he sang, with a voice _that_ deep.

Still, mousy as he was, at least this guy had pipes. Peering up, he asked, “You’re Kyo?”

Kyo’s grin widened. “Kusanagi Kyo, in the flesh. Heard of me?” It happened once in a while, especially given the increasing media presence at tournaments.

Blondie draped an arm over Iori’s shoulder. “This guy won’t tell us anything about himself –” Iori shoved him off, which didn’t faze him at all. “– but if he’s had a few, he tends to start mumbling. What’d you do to him, huh?”

“Your name comes up a lot,” Guitar added, straightening his glasses. “But it’s kind of hard to follow. Some kind of grudge?”

Kyo didn’t know whether to be flattered or exasperated. He was definitely not surprised. Shrugging, he said, “Kicked his ass. Saved his life. Take your pick.”

Blondie’s eyebrows rose. “You? Hm. You’re no shrimp, but Yagami is pretty intense.”

“Oh,” said Kyo, leaning in conspiratorially, “you don’t know the half of it.”

“Sounds like an interesting story,” said Guitar, taking the bait proffered. “Can we buy you a drink, then, Kusanagi?”

Iori snorted derisively and shoved past Kyo, bass under his arm. “I’m leaving.”

Kyo’s eyes followed. “Maybe next time.” Raising a hand, he added, “Take care of Yagami for me.”

He half expected Iori to blindside him as he stepped into the cool, clear night, but he didn’t. He just kept walking. Kyo caught up with him and asked, “Don’t feel like fighting anymore?”

Iori skidded to a stop, body tensing in anticipating. “Of course I feel like fighting. If-”

“Too bad,” said Kyo. “I don’t.”

There was a time that might not have mattered. Tonight, though, Iori untensed, lowering his gaze. They had both learned – it was no good if their hearts weren’t in it. As he started to move again, he barked, “Then why did you come?”

“Poor Yagami. No moderation.” Falling back into step with him, Kyo said, “Come on, let’s talk. I came because I was curious.”

“… about what?”

“About your band. Like I said, not half bad.” They weren’t earth-shattering, but that kind of laid-back, jazzy meandering… it was what you wanted when you sat in a dim, smoky club, sipping on gin and trying to forget that you had actual responsibilities. It was a relief to be outside now, though, away from the thick shroud of cigarette smoke and body odor. He could still smell both on Iori, if he stepped close enough, but somehow he didn't mind that. On Iori, it was familiar. Comforting, almost.

“I don’t care what people think of us,” said Iori.

“No, but you probably should. Anyway, they seemed nice.”

“Who?”

Kyo sighed. Sometimes it felt like Iori was determined to be as dense as humanly possible, buried so deep in his own head. “Your bandmates. I didn’t catch their names.”

Sneering, Iori said, “It doesn’t matter. They irritate me. Unfortunately, they can play.”

“Aww. You should be friendlier. They’re putting up with you, after all. You won’t tell them anything?” They might have been talking to Kyo, but he wasn’t the true object of their curiosity. Kyo could sympathize. He was confident enough to say that he knew more about Iori than anyone else, and it still wasn’t much.

Iori shrugged. “What am I supposed to tell them?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Stuff about you.” It was hard to be more definite. He probably shouldn’t tell them about bearing a centuries-old blood curse which forced him into battle with otherworldly entities on the regular. Beyond that and music… what did Iori do, exactly? What did he like?

“Why would I talk about that?” asked Iori, staring at him with undisguised confusion. “Does it matter?”

“… Yagami.” Kyo put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you don’t realize this, but sometimes, you are so, so sad.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about, but you talk way too much.” Iori glanced down at it, face unreadable. “Are you planning on following me home?”

“Why not?” Kyo knew how pathetic this must seem. Usually Iori was the one tailing him like an overeager puppy, not the other way around. He was practically tripping over his own feet right now, and he didn’t even know why. This didn’t have to be tonight. Then again… when else? Waiting for Iori to be in a better mood was like waiting for a lunar eclipse.

“Fine,” said Iori, catching Kyo offguard. He paused, getting his bearings in the poorly-lit streets, and resumed his walk. This was a rough part of town, filled with peeling paint and boarded up windows, but it had been Iori’s turf for a few years now. The local punks knew better than to mess with him. Not worth it.

Kyo, on the other hand… whether he knew better or not, he had a habit of ignoring the rational part of his brain, particularly where Iori was involved. Most of the time, that wasn’t a problem. If only everything were as simple as fighting him.

Iori didn’t bother taking his shoes off when they stepped inside his room, so Kyo didn’t either. He was secretly grateful, given the state of the floor. He’d only been here a couple of times before, but it was hard to forget the sight of scarred walls and uneven floorboards. Then there was the smell: dust and mold and tobacco and charred plaster. It was a wonder Iori hadn’t burnt the whole place down. He didn't bother to turn the lights on either, which made Kyo wonder if they even worked.

“So,” said Kyo, taking a seat on the tiny bed, which was the only piece of furniture in sight. There was just enough light coming in the curtainless window to get there without killing himself. At least it looked relatively clean, though it was hard to be certain. He couldn’t help but notice that there were no blankets, though. Did Iori run hot, or did he just not care..?

Iori looked askance at him, brows furrowed, and hovered in the center of the room. “So?”

Better yet… what _did_ Iori care about? Kyo crossed his arms. Even if he asked, he’d only get one answer. “So… sit down already!” he said. “Is this _really_ so weird that I want to talk to you for once? Should I just go?”

“Yes,” said Iori. “No. I mean-” He paused. “Most people would steer clear of a man who intends to kill them, is all. But I don’t really care if you stay or go.”

“Okay, yes, it’s weird. I know it’s weird. You don’t need to tell me.” Kyo ran a hand over his face.

Finally, Iori sat down beside him. “You did ask.”

A moment passed in silence. “Tell me something about yourself,” said Kyo. “When’s your birthday?”

Iori blinked. “It’s… in March. The 25th.”

“Great. Mine’s in December. Your hobby is music, of course.”

“Well… yes,” said Iori. “Not exactly a hobby. I wouldn’t call it a career either, but...”

“Huh. Your necklace.” Kyo reached out, taking hold of the glinting black triangle. “It’s a guitar pick. I didn’t notice before.” He held it in his palm, letting the back of his hand press flat against the hard muscle of Iori’s chest. It tensed as Iori inhaled sharply.

“Kyo,” Iori said, grabbing his wrist.

Kyo dropped his gaze, focusing intently on their knees. “Yeah?”

“What do you want from me?” he asked, squeezing harder. “What is it you want me to say? If you don’t want a fight-”

“You… really don’t get it, do you?” Kyo frowned. “You really think I shouldn’t care about any of this. About anything that doesn’t involve me beating you to a pulp, or vice versa.”

“Of course you shouldn’t-”

“Then you’ve got a lot of nerve, following me around for so long!” Kyo snapped, yanking his wrist free to grab Iori’s shirt. “You made yourself a part of my life. Why can’t I care about you? Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because there’s only one way it can end!”

Kyo stared, stunned by the roar of his voice. Iori slumped back against the wall, panting. "I admitted it to myself a long time ago. You’re the one who doesn’t get it,” he said, bringing a hand to his face, letting his nails dig in. “You’re the one who...”

“Yagami,” said Kyo, voice soft. He reached over and removed Iori’s hand, intimately acquainted with the damage those claws could do. When Kyo replaced it with his own, Iori looked up, eyes flickering with uncertainty.

"So why should I get close to anyone? Why should anyone get close to me? I'm better off alone!"

“It’s alright,” said Kyo. “It won’t end.”

“It will,” said Iori, closing his eyes. “I’ll end it with my own two hands.” Even so, he leaned in to the touch.

“Alright,” said Kyo. This wasn’t a point Iori could budge on. Kyo knew better than to try. Instead, he grinned. “But you haven't been successful yet, right? You think I’m going to make it easy for you? Not a chance, so relax a little. Come on.”

“You’re a fool,” said Iori, grasping his shoulder. “It’s going to be the death of you. Don’t you understand that? You could have ended this a long time ago-”

“By, what, _killing_ you? Are you serious?” Kyo seized Iori in his arms. “I couldn’t do that. Besides-”

What was it that Yasakani had plead on the day they faced Orochi side by side? To protect Iori. To save him from a fate he had never chosen – a mistake made more than six centuries before he was ever born. Kyo succeeded that day, but he wasn’t sure how many times he would be able to succeed again.

Maybe Iori was right. Maybe he was a fool. Maybe the weight of destiny was heavier than either of them could bear, as much as they balked at the idea. It wasn't fair to either of them, that their stupid ancestors' whims should intrude on their lives again and again and again.

Even so, he couldn't accept that. He never would accept it, and he knew Iori felt the same. If Iori was willing to fight against his destiny every day of his life, the least Kyo could do was be there for him once in a while.

"Life would be way more boring without you," said Kyo, squeezing tighter. "So keep chasing me. I can handle it."

"If you say so," said Iori, sighing. "I suppose if you want to court your own death, that's your prerogative."

"Damn right, it is," said Kyo, pushing away. "As if you could stop me." Iori let him go, though there was reluctance in the trail of his hand. "Say," Kyo said. "Sing something."

"... sing?"

"Yeah. Sing."

Kyo expected him to scoff or to argue, but he didn't. Slowly, haltingly, his voice began to flow. It was uncertain at first, as if his voice had gone unused for some time, but the notes gradually swelled, filling the small space between them. Kyo watched and listened, transfixed. The song was an old enka number, something his dad might sing when he was drunk, but Kyo hardly noticed the words. It was the sound that arrested him, the raw reverberations.

Halfway through a verse, Iori opened his eyes, and the song died in his throat. "What?" he asked, and it was only then that Kyo realized he'd been staring.

"Nothing," he said, rising to go. It wasn't what he had come for, but he had the sense of stealing away a secret, something much more precious than anything else he could have learned. He had to leave now, while this feeling was alive in his heart. After all, there would be other nights like this. He was sure of that now. Pausing by the door, Kyo called, "You should sing more."


End file.
